Desperate Hearts
by Evil Sapphyre
Summary: The Warden Commander and Queen of Ferelden decides she must take action in order to preserve the future. But before she can leave, she must try to make her husband, King Alistair, understand why she must go. (Dragon Age Inquisition spoilers)


"No. Absolutely not. I forbid it."

Most days, Samantha Theirin would be proud to see the steel behind her husband's brown eyes as he held firm on his ground. It took her the better part of his first year as King of Ferelden to get him to truly start being able to stand up to some of the more pushy members of the Bannorn. Steel that allowed him to armor himself with conviction when he was forced to don the well-tailored doublets and breeches rather than the finely crafted suit of plate. Today, however, she was more annoyed by it. After all, he was attempting to forbid her. It made all the difference in the world on how she would react to the situation.

Alistair stood by the fireplace in the common room that adjoined their two suites, still wearing the maroon doublet and leather breeches from court, attempting to stare down his own queen. Sam, in contrast, stood behind one of the couches, her hands resting on the back. She had long since shed the maroon dress she had worn earlier that day - one she swore swished too much with her every move - in favor of a simple dressing robe, with her blonde hair flowing loose past her shoulders. Perhaps she should have broached the subject in the morning, rather than ambushed him with the topic as soon as court ended?

No, the timing of this discussion was never going to be opportune. It was bound to provoke at the least a heated debate between the King and Queen, one that any servant passing by was bound to overhear. Better for it to be for the servant's ears, than to risk it spilling over into a court session. The matters that needed to be discussed were delicate, and quite personal. She didn't need to burden the King with such thoughts to distract him before going to tend to his subjects. It was still important that they discuss it though, and she couldn't keep finding reasons to put it off.

It didn't make it any easier to deal with his stubborn refusal to listen. She arched a brow as she stared right back at him, not hiding the disapproval she knew shone in her own blue eyes. "Fortunately for you, I was not asking your permission."

She watched as his jaw twitched, like it did whenever he was trying to not say the wrong thing to one of the Banns. Her heart ached a bit, knowing he was trying to find the right words to move her, and that no matter what he said, she couldn't change her course. Finally, he sighed with a shake of his head. "Well, regardless, I've made my decision. And that's that."

"Alistair..." She crossed the short distance to him. He watched her as she moved, a glint in his eyes for a moment, but as soon as she was near enough to touch him, he stepped away.

Her heart dropped in her chest as he held up a single hand to her. Whatever pain she felt was magnified by the raw emotion in his eyes. "No, no, I am your husband. And your King. I've made up my mind."

She knew she was asking too much of him, but this was the only course they could pursue. She steeled her own nerves, not letting her voice crack when she spoke, even though she just wanted to throw herself into his arms. Instead, she settled for crossing her arms under her breasts. "You can't stop me."

His brown eyes narrowed at her, the fire crackling in the space between them. "I'll have you arrested. Tossed down in the dungeons."

"And what would the Bannorn say if you had the Queen locked up?"

"Maker's Breath, Samantha, I don't care! Your brother could march the strength of all his men upon Denerim, and I still wouldn't care!" The firelight casted a shadow over the hurt in his eyes, and she wanted to reach out and caress his face. She hated that she was hurting him. "I don't want you going on this fool's errand you've set your mind to."

She felt her resolve crumbling, wanting to blow away with the wind from a storming sea. She did the only thing she knew; she gripped her other title in her mind, with as much ferocity as she could, to steady herself. "Whether you like it or not, Alistair, I'm still the Warden Commander of this area. I have to do something. I can't just sit here."

"Then let me go instead." He never hesitated after she spoke, as if he had been waiting for that counterpoint. He walked her right into that path, and she never saw it coming. Her cheeks flamed with her ire. "If it's Warden business, I'm just as capable of handling it as you."

"Absolutely not. I will not let you go in my place. It's my responsibility as Warden Commander, and I get to decide who gets to do what foolishness." It wasn't even that what she was trying to do was that foolhardy, but it had every potential to be dangerous. At the end of the day, she was far less valuable of a loss to Ferelden, with no heir about to replace Alistair.

"Now, that's not fair. You don't get to pull rank here. Besides which, King trumps Warden Commander." For a second, she heard a tiny amount of mirth seep into his voice, but it never quite made it to his face. It did help to smother the anger back down. This wasn't easy for either of them.

"No, it doesn't. The Wardens don't owe any allegiance to any country." She kept her voice soft, tucking her hair behind her ears to keep from reaching out to take his hands - to feel the rough callous of his palms against her own.

"Well, it doesn't matter. I'm not going to let you go. Not alone." His voice dropped on the last word. It wasn't so much a note of regret, but more a desperate plea that she hadn't heard in years. Like the night before the Battle for Denerim, when they thought it could be their last moments together.

"I won't be alone."

"You're right. I'll be with you." There was a bright earnestness in his eyes. He'd leave it all behind to go with her, and Maker help her, she wanted to let him. It would be so much easier if they could both ignore all their responsibilities, steal two horses, and disappear into the night until they found the answers they sought. It wouldn't matter how it ended then. They'd be together through it all.

It just wasn't how things could be. She felt her eyes tighten, threatening to unleash tears. But she wouldn't cry now. "We both cannot be gone on this mission, Alistair. One of us has to remain and see to the needs of Ferelden."

"I'll appoint Teagan or your brother Fergus to handle things while we're away." He waved a hand, like he was apt to do when speaking with scribes. It made her smile because somehow he figured that if he just waved his hand, the scribes would figure out how to handle everything just so.

A simple hand wave wasn't going to solve the bigger issue. Alistair was King, and even though they ruled jointly, one of them needed to be home. Anora was put away, and the people were happy, but that didn't mean that if they were gone for too long, someone wouldn't try to take over. What if it wasn't one of the Bannorn? What if Orlais, or Tevinter made a move? "And risk everything we've fought to do? Ferelden needs its King."

Alistair shook his head and turned his back to her, facing the fire. He stared into the flames a long time, and Sam found herself moving towards him. "And I need you. If you leave, I leave."

"I promise that I'll be safe. I'll take a small contingent of Wardens from Amarathine." She pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around him until her hands were resting above his heart.

He placed his hand on top of hers, holding it firmly against him. "I'm still a Warden too. Why is that I'm not good enough to have your back on this?"

"You're the only Warden I'd want to have my back on this." She leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes, drinking in his scent: the blend of leather, grass and steel polish - as if he spent half the morning in the training yard rather than the throne room. "I wish there was any way for it to be different."

"You could…" His hand squeezed hers. "Stop being difficult and let me have my way. We'd both be much happier if you did."

With a sigh, she opened her eyes, stepping away from her husband and turning her back to him this time. "Alistair, I'm trying to be practical about this. "

"Oh... blast it, Sam!" She heard his feet stomp across the room, and soon he was in her vision again as he sat on one of the couches. "This isn't about logic and reason. It's not about practicality. It's about the fact that it would drive me mad with worry not knowing where you were. That you're safe. Besides, which, we don't even know if the rumors are true."

Her cheeks flamed as she watched him. He sat with his shoulders slumped, his face in his hands. This was the man that vowed to storm the Black City itself if it meant keeping her safe. It was so unfair of her to ask all of this of him. She wasn't sure where she found her voice, one that was barely a whisper. "Don't we owe it to ourselves to find out?"

"But if it isn't true? We don't know how long it will take you." His own voice was rough with emotion. She crossed the short distance to where he sat, kneeling in front of him. "You could be gone months, _years_. That's time we won't ever get back."

"If there is any chance, _any_, that there's a way to stop _it_. To give us a chance at an heir? I can't turn away from that path." She placed her hands on his, letting her fingers trail along the edges of his hands, brushing just against his hair. She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Morrigan already gave us one chance. I'm greedy and selfish. I want more. Let me see if I can find us that next chance."

For a moment, he leaned into her touch before pulling away. He didn't actually move from where he sat, but instead, leaned against the back, watching her with his brown eyes. A mock pout appeared on his lips. "Hey, no using your feminine wiles to distract me."

"You like it when I distract you." A small smile played about Sam's lips as she rested her hands along his thighs.

"Well, yes, but..." He arched a single brow at her, as she pulled herself into his lap, her hands sliding to the waist of his breeches. His breath hitched just a bit as he shifted underneath her, feeling his body heat through their clothes, and she saw his eyes darken, but not from anger. "Maker's breath... we'll finish this conversation tomorrow."

His mouth was on hers before she could reply, a hand snaking into her blonde hair and pulling her tight against him. His kiss was bruising, demanding, and she yielded to him without question. Somehow, they both already knew that the conversation was finished. She would leave, and he would have to let her. Tonight was about savoring the moments they still had, and she needed those memories as much as he did.

* * *

><p>Moonlight poured in through the open drapes of a window, highlighting the blonde hair of her lover as he snored softly in their bed. It took all her strength to slip out of his warm embrace as he held her body against his, but it would be better this way. She already had a pack stashed away with her leathers she preferred, and if she left now, she'd be able to meet up with Nathaniel before Alistair could send word to Amarathine to stop her.<p>

She felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she watched him breath. She prayed to Andraste, to the Maker, to anyone that could help, that she'd return to him as soon as she could. She hated leaving more than he would ever understand.

She walked over to the desk, where the note that could never say what she needed it to say, lay and pressed a kiss to it once more. Her fingers trailed along the small blonde braid that she left along with it. He'd hate her for leaving like this, but hopefully, in time, he'd forgive her.

Looking one last time over her shoulder, she swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry, Alistair."

* * *

><p><em>Alistair<em>

_I love you._

_Always._

_I will return._

_Sam_

* * *

><p>It had been three days since he awoke without her there. Three days where he wished to the Maker that she'd have left him more than those few words. Three days where he wasn't sure if he hated her more than he loved her, but he wouldn't be so mad if it wasn't love. No, he'd forgive her in time. She was doing what she thought was best, and her sheer stubbornness had always been one of those things he loved most about her. It just hurt that she was gone, and he didn't know when she'd return. But if she said she would, he would have faith.<p>

He stood at the window to their suite, looking out at the courtyard of the palace. Even now, he could see members of the Bannorn and other supplicants starting to make their way the throne room. He scratched at the stubble along his chin, wanting to send them all away. He had no desire to deal with their quibbling today.

"Sire?" A young male voice, one of the stewards Teagan had forced upon him, broke through his thoughts.

Alistair glanced over to him. The steward couldn't possibly be more than fifteen. He was a slightly portly teenage boy with dark hair and eyes. "Yes?"

"One of the scout reports from Amarathine have returned."

Alistair nodded. "Yes, please send them in, right away. I'd like to speak with them in private before I attend to other matters."

The steward nodded and hurried out after offering a poor bow. Alistair smirked a bit, wondering if he had ever been that painfully awkward. A woman with red hair entered a few moments later, dressed in dark leathers, and a bow slung across her back. She offered him a perfunctory bow. Alistair scowled in her direction, waving one hand to try and get her to hurry through whatever protocol she felt she needed to adhere to. Whatever she needed to report didn't need pomp and circumstance.

She blinked, confusion clouding her hazel eyes, but she did not let that deter her. "Sire, we got to Amarathine, but there was no contingent of wardens on the move."

He clenched his jaw, and slowly counted to ten in his head. The last thing he needed to do was to actually kill the messenger. "What do you mean, there was no contingent of wardens on the move?"

"Just that, sire. The wardens were almost all accounted for."

"Almost all?"

The scout nodded. "Yes, all but Warden Howe."

Oh, that was bloody perfect. Of all the possible choices for assistance, Nathaniel Howe was the last one he'd approve to accompany his wife. He added that to the list of things that he and his dear wife would discuss upon her eventual return. He tried to keep his voice calm, but he clearly spoke through clenched teeth. "Very well. Is there anything else?"

"Just this, Sire." The scout stepped forward, a small rolled note in her hand and offered it to him. He took it from her and dismissed her.

He walked over to the fireplace, the note still in hand. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what it said, and he'd be lying if he wasn't tempted to toss the note into the fire. Sighing, he unrolled the parchment to find his wife's neat scrawl written inside.

_I miss you fiercely._

_I will arrange for the wardens to pass my letters back to you._

_As often as I can write._

_Your words would aid me greatly if you would send them._

_When you forgive me._

_I love you._

_Never forget that._

_Sam_

Seeing her words again, so soon after she left, made his heart ache even more. There was nothing she wouldn't do for him. He knew that, and that made this so much harder. His thumb went to his belt, where he tucked the lock of hair she left as a token. He stroked the silken threads softly, knowing it was the closest thing to having her physically here with him.

"I love you too, Sam."


End file.
